


Dreams

by kansaskissedlips



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Time, M/M, Non-Consensual Touching, Pining, Season/Series 04, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-25 19:26:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18581044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kansaskissedlips/pseuds/kansaskissedlips
Summary: When Sam falls asleep in the back of the Impala, things go awry.Set somewhere in the middle of season four.





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted in 2012 in four parts: https://kansaskissedlips.tumblr.com/post/26588329943/could-you-make-a-post-with-links-to-all-4-parts-of

Dean had been so distracted by the music coming quietly from the Impala’s speakers as he hummed softly along (and totally off-key, but he didn’t care), and so absorbed in the obituaries of the newspaper that he  _almost_  missed it when Sam gave a sharp gasp in the backseat and let out a soft moan.

The older Winchester started from his thoughts, not moving for a moment, before he quirked an eyebrow and looked curiously in the rear view mirror. Sam lay flat on his back, his head turned slightly to the side with brown hair falling over his eyes, head resting on the lump that was Dean’s jacket. His lips were parted and Dean suddenly noticed one of his hands gripping the edge of the seat. The other was resting on his stomach, but dangerously close to his inner thigh. As a matter of fact, as Dean watched (he couldn’t help it), he saw that hand creeping lower.

But Sam was deeply asleep – the guy hadn’t slept properly in months and this time Dean had insisted that he take sleeping pills – damn near crammed them down his throat. So it was safe to say that Sam was solidly asleep, and judging by the other quiet gasp that escaped his mouth, Dean could only assume that he was having some pretty damn good dreams.

And he wished that he could give Sam some privacy, but they were in the  _car_ and it was the middle of the night. He could look away. But at this point, Dean had put down the paper and had turned fully to face his brother, that creeping curiosity getting the best of him.

He honestly didn’t know if Sam was still fucking Ruby (God, Sam sure liked to score with the monsters), but judging by the general tightness and tenseness of his body, he guessed not. Seriously, it wouldn’t kill his little brother to get laid once in a while – preferably not by a demon – but Sam seemed to have some moral dilemma when it came to one night stands that weren’t drowning in meaning or feelings.

Dean’s eyes were suddenly glued to Sam’s hand, which was now resting heavily right between his legs. “Shit,” he breathed softly when that hand began to move slowly, “that’s not fucking cool, Sammy.” He could see Sam’s hips lift – just barely – to meet the pressure of his hand.

Dean needed to wake him up – like really, before things got even more awkward and even more out of hand (so-to-speak). But maybe he’d give his baby brother a few more minutes in fantasy land. He really should turn back around, give him some privacy, but right as he was about to, Sam gasped again, louder this time, and whispered, “ _Please_ ,” in the neediest voice Dean had ever heard. Dean’s mouth dropped open, but he continued to watch Sam writhe on the seat, unable to look away.

And then he saw it – Sam’s body moving a bit faster, and his quiet whimpers becoming increasingly louder. His lips parted, and Dean knew by looking at him – could damn well  _tell_  – that the look on Sam’s face was equivalent to how Dean felt when he was about to come.

“Oh, shit. No. No way, Sam,” Dean muttered trying to grab his brother and wake him up.  Not being able to quite reach, he resorted to climbing into the rather roomy backseat. He slipped, though, trying to get his footing on the floor, and ended up awkwardly hovering just above Sam, their faces so close that they were nearly pressed together. He could feel the overwhelming heat emanating from Sam’s body, and despite the panic he had felt earlier, he couldn’t help but notice how relaxed Sam looked, with his forehead only slightly tensed and eyes shut tightly. Dean was so distracted that he didn’t even remember why he was back there until it was too late.

Sam gasped suddenly, hips arching, as the hand between his legs flew upwards, gripping Dean’s side tightly, causing the elder to lose his own grip and fall almost completely on top of his little brother. Dean was too startled by the sudden press of Sam’s hips and groin against his – Sam was having a good dream alright.

He lowered one hand, eyes wide, to shake Sam awake but it was too late. Sam whimpered softly, thrust upwards, body moving against Dean’s as he went completely rigid and tense, mouth parted in a blissful ‘O.’

Dean could feel everything – the press of Sam’s erection between his legs and then the series of rhythmic contractions working through his taut body – stomach muscles, pelvic muscles and thigh muscles all tensing and relaxing against Dean.

And Dean would be a damned liar if he said it wasn’t one of the most erotic experiences he had endured – especially coupled with the look on Sam’s face. He felt his little brother’s body relax in post-orgasmic bliss and a twinge of panic as Sam’s eyes slowly began to open.

Hazel met green and for a moment, all was silent as Dean gazed down at his brother, completely unsure of what to do or say.

And then Sam smiled and sleepily reached a hand up to touch the back of Dean’s head. As soon as he did, though, his eyes widened and he suddenly jerked wide awake, complete and utter horror crossing his features.

They were so close that Dean could feel the panic coursing through Sam, barely able to register the smile that he had given him lazily just moments earlier. “It’s not what you think,” Dean managed to rasp out. God, this looked bad.

Sam’s face flushed crimson – and Sam didn’t know whether to be more worried about the fact that his brother was on top of him while he was having a wet dream; or on top of him while he was specifically having a wet dream about  _him_. “Dean?” he stuttered, suddenly feeling very cold – especially given the state in which his pants now resided. God, he had never been so humiliated in his  _life -_ coming in his pants like a teenager under the watchful eye of his brother.

His brother who was still on top of him for unbeknownst reasons.

Dean lingered for one more second before carefully extracting himself from Sam, trying to pretend that he still didn’t feel the dampness of the front of Sam’s jeans on him. “Shit, Sammy,” he said, running a hand through his hair awkwardly, “I was trying to wake you up, and I slipped and...shit...I’m sorry, man. That is just  _so_  wrong.”

Sam slowly sat up, heart racing, entire body suddenly stiff and jerky again. “Can you drive us to a motel?” he finally muttered, unable to look at Dean, who was crawling back into the front seat.

“Yeah, yeah, okay. Let’s go to a motel.”

Sam sat in ashamed silence for dreaming about his brother like that. God, Dean could  _never_ know.

And Dean sat in ashamed silence for thinking that the look on Sam’s face when he came was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.


	2. Part Two

They ended up staying at a  _hotel_  (Jesus  _Christ_ , could this night get any worse – hotels were  _expensive_ ) because it was the first thing that they had happened to pass by. And it was just Dean’s luck that there was some sort of fucking business convention in town,  and the hotel only had rooms with single beds left. He sighed and took one anyway – it was only for one night.

Sam hadn’t said anything to him since the “incident” and when they got to their room, he rushed for the shower immediately.

Dean sat on the bed, pondering his miserable existence. God, Sam probably thought he was some kind of pervert. And now they were going to have to share a bed tonight. Fan-fucking-tastic. He seriously wished that Sam’s freaky-ass powers included time travel so he could go back and remedy the situation.

Sam came out of the bathroom, dressed in clean clothes, and looking how he always did when he was upset about something but couldn’t find the words to say what he was feeling: shy – eyes turned down, shoulders slightly slumped.

There was no way Dean was going to let this  _thing_ fester between them so he bit the bullet and started stuttering out an awkward speech. “Sam...look. I’m sorry I embarrassed you, but we’re both grown men – we  _both_  masturbate – let’s face it. You just happened to be gettin’ yours in your dreams tonight. I didn’t mean to...to...you know.” God, Dean sucked at this. He seriously wished an angel would smite him and put him out of his fucking misery.

“It’s okay, Dean,” Sam said quietly, not looking up as he rearranged some things in his duffel bag. “I guess...I don’t know...I guess it’s been awhile.”

There was a small pause before Dean commented, “Well, I’d rather you jerk yourself dry than use your abilities, so if that’s what it takes...”

Sam’s face turned red again, and then he just  _lost_ it. “Shut up about that, Dean. Just  _shut up_. I’m so sick of explaining myself to you,” he snapped, embarrassment suddenly forgotten. He felt the adrenaline rush through him, causing his hands to shake.

Dean was momentarily taken aback by the outburst, but he suddenly felt anger jolt through him, too. “If there was any time in your life that you’ve made the  _worst_ decision possible, it was then – working with Ruby to strengthen your abilities.” His voice was cold as his gaze met Sam’s and held it.

Sam felt his chest constrict painfully at Dean’s icy stare and he looked down again. He could handle a lot of things, but Dean being disappointed in him cut him straight to the bone.

And then it was like he couldn’t stop it - every single emotion of the past few months crashed into him at once –  _hard_ – leaving him breathless and feeling helpless. A few wayward tears snuck out of the corner of his eyes and dropped onto his chilled skin. He just didn’t want to fight anymore. “I’m sorry,” he said without looking up, teeth grit as he tried to keep his voice steady.

Dean could hear even the slightest hint of a waver in Sam’s voice. “Jesus, Sammy,” he sighed softly, moving to sit on the floor beside his brother. He knew how awful they’d been to each other – the lying, the selfishness, and the hurtful words – it wasn’t them – or, rather, it wasn’t supposed to be them. They were supposed to be a team.

 And now he saw his brother sitting there, his head in his hands, a few tears falling onto the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry, too, Sam. I’m not...I’m not angry with you, okay?” He awkwardly reached out to pat Sam’s arm and felt the younger jerk at his touch.

“Don’t touch me,” Sam snapped, inching away. “You...you wouldn’t want to, anyway,” he mumbled, looking at the carpet.

Dean looked at him, exasperated. “Sam, what’s going on?”

His brother was looking at him with such genuine worry that it all came spilling out of Sam and he was helpless to stop it. He didn’t want there to be any more lies between them (it was bad enough that Dean didn’t know about the demon blood).

“I...my dream, earlier. It was about you. I was dreaming about you,” Sam confessed, his cheeks suddenly brightening as he shuffled away. “I’ve...I’m so ashamed, Dean,” he suddenly said, dropping his voice. God, it sounded even worse out loud.

Dean stared at his younger brother in confusion. “You were having a sexual dream about me, Sam?” The words felt odd on his lips, but not wrong. Jesus Christ, why didn’t they sound wrong?

“Yeah,” Sam said, voice quieter than ever as he cast his eyes down.

Dean was astounded. “Why? Do you...” He couldn’t even finish. Why was he so curious? He should be taking Sam to a fucking psychologist, they should be getting treatment, they should –  _oh_. Not just Sam, but  _them. They_ should be getting treatment. Because maybe Dean didn’t find Sam dreaming about him  _that_ way so wrong and wasn’t that just fucked up ten ways from the apocalypse? 

“I just...I think I’ve always had an attraction to you...and God, this is so wrong...I’m such a fuck up...” Sam was clenching at the tops of his thighs with his hands, probably hard enough to leave bruises as he trembled through the rest of his confession. A heavy silence hung between them.

Dean was floored. Those noises Sam had made were induced by dream- _him_?

“I know you hate me. I  _know_ I’m twisted. I think I was just trying to fill the void with Ruby, with training, with all of this stupid stuff and none of it came close and then all I wanted was to be closer to you, to love you and for you not to hate me and...Dean,” Sam whimpered, “I’m so sorry. You went to Hell because of me and I can’t even...I keep wrecking our relationship.”

Dean was quiet for moment before turning to touch his hand to Sam’s blazing cheek, a decision made. “None of that is your fault," he finally said. "It’s okay, Sammy." He held his brother’s gaze steadily. “Don’t be ashamed.” He let his hand linger slightly before pulling a shocked Sam closely into him. “I’ve thought about it, too.”

Sam felt hot all over as he struggled to articulate. “...what?”

“I...we don’t have time to be embarrassed or ashamed about something like this, Sam,” Dean said softly, surprised at his own words. “How can we, especially if it comes down to two people simply loving each other?”

Sam blinked away tears. “You  _love_ me?” He had thought for all he was worth that Dean hated him – especially when he found out what he’d been doing while he was literally living through Hell.

Dean swallowed hard. God, he was not good at chick-flick moments, but revelations like this called for it. “Always, Sam. No matter what you say or do, I will  _never_  stop loving you, even if there are moments when I want to make you bleed, feel pain, and suffer.” He leaned in close to Sam so that they were practically breathing each other’s air, their lips inches apart. “And isn’t love about suffering?”

Sam went rigid, completely unable to respond, except to mentally calculate how much of a fraction of an inch he would have to move to get Dean’s lips on his.  _We can’t, we can’t, we can’t_ rang through his head over and over again.

But then Dean brought his hand to the back of Sam’s head and said, “Do you want me to kiss you?” No way was he crossing  _that_ line without some kind of verbal consent first.

 “Yes,” Sam responded, surprised at how easily it came out of his mouth, and how badly he suddenly wanted that.

Dean cupped Sam’s face (which was stained with a deep blush) before leaning in and saying quietly, “Stop me if you need to.” And then his lips were on Sam’s, and he was feeling him (soft) and tasting him (minty) for the first time, and he realized that he didn’t want this to  _ever_ stop.


	3. Part Three

Dean kissed Sam gently (maybe because he was afraid of breaking apart this fragile thing between them before it even started) with a series of closed-lip kisses to ease them into it. He threaded his fingers through Sam’s long hair, occasionally tugging it to angle his head. A flash of arousal shot through him when he realized how pliant and  _willing_ his back-talking, defiant,  _I’m-running-away-to-California-so-I-can-make-my-own-rules_ little brother was under his touch.

Sam was relaxed – and turned on – by said touch. It was completely different from how it was with Ruby – all grabbing, pulling, yanking, biting, and dominating. But this - this was so  _loving_. No one had touched him like  _this_  since  _Jess_  and it felt  _nice_. Like he wasn’t just being used for something, only to be tossed away later at a noticeable inconvenience.

Dean cracked an eye open to see if Sam kissed with his eyes opened or closed – he smirked lightly when he saw it was the latter. He pecked his lips one more time before pulling away to give them both air. “Are you freaking out yet?” he asked softly.

“No,” Sam answered honestly. “Uh, no...is that weird?” He flicked his eyes to Dean’s and held his green-gaze, still a little unsure. Like most times in his life, he was turning to his big brother to find out what came next.

“Not weird,” Dean said, brushing a piece of hair out of Sam’s eyes – a gesture he honestly couldn’t help. It felt like that first night that they were hunting together again – when they began to reopen themselves to each other and explore the wounds left by old words – harsh, biting – so that they could begin the healing process.

“Okay,” Sam said slowly, a smile beginning on his red, slightly swollen lips. “Then stop kissing me like I’m a fucking girl.”

Dean stared at him, temporarily stunned, before he snapped out of his stupor and grabbed Sam’s face and smashed their mouths together, forcing Sam’s mouth open, thrusting his tongue inside. And those wet, slick muscles met, fighting for dominance, until Dean sucked Sam’s tongue into his mouth and held it there, biting lightly.

The bruising kiss caused Sam to moan softly into Dean’s mouth, and the sound caused any remaining blood in Dean’s body to shoot southwards. He pulled away, a hand lingering on Sam’s chin. “Jesus  _Christ_ , Sam.”

Dazed, Sam looked at Dean with a slightly lust-induced expression. “Should we...should we move this to the bed?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, standing up and stretching out a hand to Sam. He gripped him and pulled him to his feet, trying to contain the smirk when he noticed his little brother’s knees trembling. Keeping his eyes on Sam’s, he slowly smoothed a hand up his chest and began to unbutton his plaid shirt (God, he had way too many of those), until it hung open to reveal a grey t-shirt. He pushed the plaid off his shoulders and watched it fall to the ground, before backing Sam up against the bed, shucking out of his own denim over shirt.

Sam licked his lips, looking down at Dean as his stomach suddenly clenched tight with guilt.  _I have to tell him about the demon blood..._

Dean felt the change in Sam’s demeanor instantaneously. “We don’t have to do this, Sammy. What I said before...it still applies. You can say ‘no.’”

“Guess I’m just nervous,” Sam replied, smiling tightly. At least that much was true.

Dean leaned forward, grazed his lips against the corner of Sam’s mouth and said, “It’s just me.”

“T-That’s why. I don’t want to fuck this up, too.”

Dean was quiet for a moment as he contemplated the words. Sighing softly, he said, “Sam, I want you to know...if this aspect of our relationship doesn’t work out – if it’s too much, or not enough, or  _whatever_  – I’m not going to leave you, okay? Because you’re, uh...you’re still my little brother. God, that sounds strange...but Sammy? Family first – just like it’s always been with us. Okay?”

“Okay,” Sam whispered and then Dean was pushing him onto the bed, shuffling them awkwardly to the top, so Sam’s head was on the pillows.

Dean looked down at his brother spread out for him, licked his lips, and straddled Sam’s lean hips and bent low to kiss him - carefully this time - trying to show him the tenderness that he felt. This wasn’t some girl he could leave the next day – this was  _Sam_  – his  _forever_ , whether he liked it or not. So there was no way on God’s green earth that he was going to treat him like some back-alley fuck.

Sam returned the kiss, bringing his hand up to grip Dean’s head and pull him closer. He timidly began to move his hips upwards, seeking the friction of Dean’s groin. It wasn’t long until Dean was thrusting down against him. He realized how hard he was and how suddenly the most important thing in the world was  _friction._

Dean slid his hand down Sam’s side, grabbed his right leg and hitched it up over his hip to bring them closer together. He smiled at the soft gasp and the feel of Sam digging his heel into his lower back. Satisfied with the new position, he bent down to kiss Sam again, this time tracing the seam of Sam’s lips with his tongue, teasing a little, before trailing them along his jaw and down his neck. He kissed each individual mole (including the one beside his nose, and though Dean would  _never_ admit it, he had always found it endearing – maybe even cute). And it was kissing those little beauty marks that made Dean realize he didn’t even have to think about where they were – he just  _knew_ from being so close with Sam his entire life.

Sam rocked against his brother harder, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth as the sensations in his groin grew stronger and needier. He felt Dean’s hand slip under his shirt as he drew up the hem and let his fingertips dance against his skin. He didn’t remember the last time he had been so close to the edge in such a short amount of time (not including his little sex dream earlier).

“Dean,” he whimpered, after a few minutes of shameless rocking, his voice a breathless gasp coated in urgency, “Dean, you have to stop or I’m gonna... _shit_ , I’m gonna come.” Between the kissing, the tender touches, and Dean downright  _fucking_ him into the mattress (as much as a nearly fully-clothed person could), it was too much.

Dean leaned down and brought his lips right to Sam’s ear, stroking over the hard line of his belly with his fingertips as he whispered roughly, “Then  _come._  I can get you there  _at least_  once more. Besides, it’s not like I haven’t already  _felt_  this tonight.” He smirked, lips curling against Sam’s skin. He could smell him – typical little brother smell, the one he had known his whole life, but also  _clean_ – soap and aftershave, and whatever decidedly girly shampoo Sam used. It smelled like strawberries. He’d have to tease him about that later.

Sam’s leg tightened around Dean as a small moan escaped his lips. “Dean...” He was so  _fucking_  close – God,  _why w_ as he so  _close_? He’d already climaxed once tonight and the thought of coming in his pants  _again_ unsettled him, but it was too late. He couldn’t pull away if he wanted to, especially now, as he felt the familiar tingle start at the base of his spine. Oh,  _fuck_.

Dean licked the shell of his ear. “ _Come_ ,” he commanded, pressing his hips tighter to Sam’s. Jesus _Christ_  that felt good. His eyes flicked down and he saw it happen – Sam’s facial expression transitioned to something caught between desperation and relief, and then suddenly his body was spasming uncontrollably under Dean’s.

Sam gripped Dean’s short hair and crushed their mouths together as his body gave into the pleasurable contractions. He writhed, little whimpers trying to escape his throat and getting caught. He was on fire – he could feel it licking at his nerve endings, on the precipice of desire so fierce that it was almost pain. His eyes were clamped tightly shut, mouth partially open as bliss coated him slowly.

“ _Shit_ , Sam,” Dean growled, feeling the dampness spread between his legs. That was the  _second_ time that night that Sam had come in his jeans because of Dean and if that wasn’t the hottest thing ever, he really didn’t know what was. He kept grinding until Sam shakily tried to push him away because of the sensitivity.

But Dean didn’t budge – just leaned down to kiss Sam’s sweaty forehead. God, it felt good knowing he’d been the source of his brother’s pleasure.

Sam looked up at Dean, his leg falling weakly back on the bed, little tremors still coursing through his body, as he felt the stickiness settle. He grimaced, but realized he didn’t care too much. It was laundry day tomorrow, anyway.

Dean observed Sam like he was checking over the car, just quietly admiring his handy work. His little brother’s face was flushed pink, hair dampened slightly by sweat and in addition to the stained jeans and t-shirt rucked up over his belly, Sam looked completely debauched. As Dean stared at him, it turned him on even more, and suddenly his erection felt rather neglected.

But Dean leaned down, brushed some of the wayward strands of hair out of Sam’s face and murmured “Good?” He kissed his swollen lips, searching his hazel eyes to make sure Sam wasn’t freaking out.

All Sam could do was nod. He let Dean kiss his face lightly for a few minutes before he sat up, pulling Dean into his lap. He took his face between his hands and smiled at Dean’s surprised expression when he easily flipped them over, so that Dean was underneath him. The dampness in his boxers was uncomfortable, but he could deal with that later. Besides, things between him and his older brother had always been kind of messy, so it didn’t surprise him that the sort-of-sex was, too.

“What are you doing?” Dean asked warily.

“Just wanna try something,” replied Sam. He bent down to kiss Dean’s neck, letting his tongue dart out so he could actually taste him. He pressed his nose into his skin, smelling Old Spice and leather and he realized that there wasn’t a time in his life that he  _couldn’t_  remember Dean smelling like that.

It took Dean a minute to relax underneath Sam, but he  _did_ , enjoying his younger brother’s careful, shy caresses. He could tell just from Sam’s hands that he was a good lover (maybe even as good as him) and had probably left no one unsatisfied. But now there was a pause, so he met Sam’s eyes, and saw the sudden pain there. He reached up to cup Sam’s cheek, an oddly tender gesture that he was becoming familiar with. “Something wrong?”

“I missed you so much, Dean. I missed everything about you – even the way you smell.” Sam’s voice wavered a little. God, if Dean ever...if that...he’d never be able to live through it again. It had been like a piece of him was missing – like his soul – and it had led him down a dark and dangerous path.

“I’m here now. Not gonna leave you again. Okay, Sammy?” Sam had been the only thing that had kept Dean from completely losing himself in Hell - his only connection to humanity.

Sam exhaled sharply and then nodded. “Sorry...I...”

“It’s okay.” Dean pulled him down and kissed him. “Now what were you gonna do?”


	4. Part Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for mentions of non-consensual touching (not between the brothers) in this chapter.
> 
> Also, as you can see - it's not really finished, but I'm not writing anymore, so...it is. ;)

Sam licked his lips and let out a shaky breath, letting his hands rest at the top of Dean’s jeans. He fiddled with the button for a minute and then looked down at his brother. Face flushing lightly, he bit his bottom lip and said softly, voice laced with need, “I want to blow you.”

Dean’s grip on Sam’s hips slackened for a moment, as he was temporarily rendered speechless. He came to his senses after a few long seconds and half-choked out, “What?”

“I...is that okay? I just...I’ve been thinking about it for a while...actually, pretty sure I was doing it in one part of my dream...but...we don’t have to if you don’t want to...” Sam felt his blush deepen. Jesus  _God_ he hated how easily his face turned red.

Dean laughed. “Uh, yeah, it’s okay. Who the hell would say no to a blow job? But...” Something unpleasant slithered down his spine. “Have you done it before?” He searched Sam’s eyes for any indication about what his brother may have kept hidden from him over the years.

Sam shook his head. “No, I’ve never given one. Uh, I haven’t really been with a guy, either, but sometimes I’ve thought about what it might be like...”

Dean’s hold on Sam’s hips unconsciously tightened. “What do you mean you ‘haven’t really’ been with a dude?”

Sam looked away, discomfort written clear as day into his body language. “Well...”

“Sammy, what? You know I don’t care, right? I mean, obviously. If I’m not having issues with the whole, uh...whole  _brothers_ thing, do you really think I’m going to care if you’ve been with other  _men_?” Dean rubbed his thumbs in circles on Sam’s hips.

“I’ve never told anyone this...” Suddenly, Sam felt small, and it was like he hadn’t been some blood-drinking, coming-apart-at-the-seams-but-holding-it-together-because-he-had-to hunter over the past six months. He felt he was ten years old, confessing some kind of accident (like spilled milk) to Dean (who would take the blame so Dad wouldn’t get mad at him).

Dean’s gut twisted at the expression on Sam’s face. “You can tell me...but you don’t have to.”

“I want to.” Sam took a breath. “Uh, okay. Well...during my freshman year at Stanford, I was kind of quiet, and didn’t really have much of a social life at first. But then about half way through the term I got invited to this huge party and decided to go...I wanted to start actually  _experiencing_ university.”

Dean didn’t like where this was going, but all he said was, “Okay,” and encouraged Sam to continue.

“Well...I ended up getting  _completely_ wasted. Like, you know the kind when you barely know your own name. Let’s just say my tolerance for alcohol has always been pretty low. Anyway, I...I don’t know who it was, but I ended up going to an empty bedroom with this guy and we started making out. I mean, I don’t know...I was still a virgin at this point, so...I guess I was in some kind of experimental phase, anyway.” Sam shifted uncomfortably on top of Dean.

Dean slipped his hand under Sam’s shirt and began to stroke his side soothingly. “And then what happened?”

“Uh...I decided that I didn’t want to kiss him anymore and tried to pull away, but he pinned me there and kept kissing me, and started groping me. I said ‘no’ several times, but he didn’t care. I guess I shouldn’t have been so drunk...”

Dean’s mouth set in a hard line as he pictured an eighteen year-old Sam struggle against some douche bag. And Sam wasn’t lying when he said he had been super wasted – any other time, Sam would have been able to take that guy down because of his hunter’s training. He was angry that he wasn’t there to help him. “You said ‘no,’ Sam. That should have been enough.”

“I...I know,” Sam mumbled. “A-Anyway, he tried to undress me, but right at that moment, the door flew open because apparently I’d been shouting pretty loud. This girl came in, walked up to the bed, yanked the guy off of me and socked him right in the face and shouted, ‘He said  _no_ , you fucking asshole!’ I was so drunk that I barely knew what was happening.”

Dean reached up and cupped Sam’s face. “Fucking Christ, Sam. Thank  _God_ for whoever that chick was.”

Sam swallowed hard and looked Dean straight in the eye. “It was Jessica. That’s how we met.” He chuckled nervously. “Some love story it turned out to be, huh?” He grit his teeth, barely aware of the stinging in his eyes. “Anyway...she, uh, Jessica, stayed with me the entire night to make sure I was okay and even held my hair back the next morning while I was puking. After I was coherent enough, she just turned and smiled at me and said, ‘I think you owe me a date, Sam Winchester.’ And you know, things went from there.”

Dean pulled Sam’s head down and kissed him lightly. “I’m so sorry that happened to you, Sam, but thank God for Jessica.”

Sam shut his eyes against the onslaught of buried pain. “Yeah, thank God.” He shifted his legs around Dean’s hips again, and felt that his erection had dwindled. “Fuck, sorry to be such a mood killer.”

“No,” Dean said softly, “no, it’s okay. I’m glad you told me. You know you can tell me anything, right Sam?” He brushed his thumb over Sam’s bottom lip.

“Y-Yeah...” Sam murmured, feeling a pang of guilt. He brushed it aside and squeezed Dean’s thigh. “Can I blow you now?”


End file.
